Starved
by x-Miyako-x
Summary: - I'd never woken so hungry in my life, but then, I wasn't alive, was I? I recalled my life flashing before my eyes and a nice though shy young man taking my hand. I recall seeing things from my youth that I had not remembered in many years. - written from the point of view of Undertaker's favourite Doll. This story will contain mature content.


**Starved**

**A/N: **This is going to be really gross and probably a bit gruesome so if that's not really your thing, I wouldn't recommend reading this. This is from the point of view of one of Undertaker's bizarre dolls, specifically the one we all know and love.

Hungry.

I was _so_ hungry.

I'd never woken so hungry in my life, but then, I wasn't alive, was I? I recalled my life flashing before my eyes and a nice though shy young man taking my hand. I recall seeing things from my youth that I had not remembered in many years.

I climbed out of the box I found myself in. It was quite comfortable, actually. I'd ever caused a stir in the past about wishing to stay in bed for a moment longer – just another moment momma – but my hunger drove me forward.

There were others. Goodness, there were quite a lot of us, weren't there? And were they all as hungry as I? I judge from their groaning that they were as well, but there were so few meals left… It must have taken me too long to get up, as usual.

If I'd been more conscious I might have been appalled at the way I pushed forth through the crowd. My current self however, didn't care much about anything, except for food of course. I did not care that I'd trampled someone, or two. I did not care to identify what substance I was stepping in, whether it was water or urine or blood. It was squishy between my toes and that is all I could tell about it. My sight wasn't good enough to see much and all I could smell was the delicious scent of a nice, warm meal.

I couldn't identify many colours either. Everything had a strong blur to it, and a pretty black pattern of flowery lines. Yet I knew where to go to find my next meal. I might've have salivated at the thought, but instead my gums bled.

Suddenly I was pushed forward and I fell into a warm body. And then I felt hands on me. Oh, those hands! I knew those hands. And how I loved them. The first memory I had upon coming into this half-life were of those hands. They held me so gently. They caressed my skin so carefully. His long-nailed fingers would run through my hair as though combing it so sweetly.

Was this love?

In a previous life, I might have thought so. Perhaps that was still the case for him. He was still alive wasn't he? He would whisper sweet nothings to me as he dressed me and played with my hair and layed me to rest in that wee box. His soul smelt wonderful, and his flesh and blood even more so, but nowhere near as much as the tiny morsel standing but a few yards away. It was him I wanted most, but this man – with the shining hair like moonlight and the glowing eyes like the sun and the old, old soul – he was holding me back.

Why he would do that, I wasn't sure, but his nails were running through my hair again and his voice was surrounding me and somehow soothing me. It was strange how I had no true urge to consume, not like the hunger I had for the boy-child standing by the large, fluttering black shape.

Before I knew it, the shining man had let me go. Was it alright to eat the boy now? I shrugged and stepped forward, but my head got stuck at that awkward angle for a moment before I could manage to lift it again. It was getting a bit heavier than I was used to.

With my arms stretched out in front of me I reached for the little thing. It wouldn't keep me full for very long, I assumed, but the sooner I ate, the sooner I could search for my next meal.

No sooner had I opened my mouth, a knife struck me in the forehead, and a fork dug into my shoulder. How very rude of that fluttering, black shape to throw such offending items at me during my meal. Didn't he know that I had no need for them?

I reached for it instead, to get it out of the way and perhaps move it to understand that I was only hungry and that, while I appreciated his help, it was not necessary. I think that my efforts may have been misconstrued.

Suddenly a red blur appeared by the fluttering blackness and then I was flying. Or at least, part of me was flying. It seemed… Yes. My head was no longer attached to the rest of me. I could see as I fell that my dress was torn. I hadn't noticed that earlier in my haste to feed. Perhaps I'd ripped it while climbing over one of my fellows. Maybe it had shredded on a nail as I climbed out of the box. Surely the shining man hadn't dressed me like this himself.

He wouldn't do such a thing.

If I'd had shoulders I would have shook my head, but as it was I just plummeted to the ground, as most things do without wings. It should have hurt when I finally fell to the floor, but mostly I was wondering how I would manage to eat the boy now. And then, something strange happened… My vision started to blur even more.

I couldn't see the boy, but I could tell he was still there – until I couldn't. The colours faded and then my vision was gone altogether. My sense of smell dulled and vanished. My gums stopped bleeding and I had a hard time moving my jaw before it froze completely. There was a puddle growing around me and I began to suspect it was my own blood. It wasn't warm. That made me a bit sad, but what could I do about it.

The last thing I felt of my surroundings was the swelling sadness of an old, old soul. And I knew that that for whatever reason, my assumptions about the shining man had been real. Perhaps he loved all of us a little bit, but I thought I would be selfish now. I only had a few moments left of this half-life at best, and I wanted to believe that he had loved me, or that he might have come to.

As it turns out I never got my meal, and the shining man never put me together again. He never brushed my hair and whispered sweet nothings in my ear as he did so again. He never held me and called me beautiful again…


End file.
